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We left off and Evangeline was being nagged by a disquieting thought...

Had she been discovered and this was but a game of cat and mouse for the dark stranger, or had he happened upon her and recognizing her decided to follow her movements? Much as she'd love to shadow him today, she wasn't prepared and so, the hunt would begin in earnest tomorrow. Utilizing one of her carefully crafted disguises she'd wait for him to show. As this was where he 'lost' her, she theorized he'd resume the search in the same area, hoping to stumble across her again.

Strolling down the street, stopping every now and then to test the ripeness of a fruit, or smell the flowers from the ever present flower girl, she wondered who or what he'd become tomorrow. His last two creations had been ingenious and she would have missed him today if not for that scarf. First rule of being a good spy - never, ever draw attention to yourself. She tutted and shook her head. Cavendish drummed that into her head day and night for weeks prior to them joining Viscount Castlereigh's delegation to Spain in 1808.

Ah, Cavendish.

So, she is about to hunt the hunter and is appreciative of his creativity, but who is Cavendish?

For information about what Weekend Writing Warriors is all about and their ever pesky rules of keeping your creative juices corralled to eight-ten lines, click HERE. From there you can also click on other authors links and read what they've contributed this week.

Welcome back my fellow Weekend Warriors! I took a break for a couple of weeks and recharged my batteries. I have a few health issues which preclude me from typing, and I was a bad girl continuing to 'mouse' around, and... well...my body said 'STOP'. Naturally, I did.

So, I read a lot, caught up on all the movies I've seen 30+ times each and baked. Baked and baked and baked. I need to get back to writing to bring my blood sugars down. LOL My family thought this was fabulous, but then, I live in a testosterone laden house and they love the fact there were fresh cookies and cakes to be snacked on.

We left off with Evangeline sneaking out of the church to evade her unknown stalker.

Upon exit, she shaded her eyes from the bright sun and crossed the pretty garden, enclosed by a high wall. She wasn't worried about becoming entrapped within the enclosure, the gate to the garden never closed properly and was one of the spots she and a courier met to exchange documents and money. Within seconds she'd pushed through onto the alleyway which ran alongside the east side of the church.

She had only minutes to spare before her shadow realized she no longer remained in the building, so she practically flew across the street and entered a stairwell that led to a small apartment above the book store. Once inside she removed the dark blouse with its fake bosom and tugged off the blonde wig, allowing her long mahogany curls to cascade down her back in messy curls as she hastened toward the window. Although the wig made her head unbearably itchy on hot days such as this, it was a necessary evil to keep her identity secret. Her shadow was on the lookout for a buxom strawberry blonde, he wouldn't think twice about the petite brunette exiting the book store.

Partially concealed by the gauzy curtain, she watched the front of the church, anticipating it would not be long before he appeared and was not disappointed. Minutes after her escape, the man burst through the main doors, and glanced up and down the street in search of her. She almost laughed out loud at having evaded him, but a disquieting thought nagged at her.

So, what is bothering her? Make sure to come back next week and find out, until then please check out other authors participating in this fun writing exercise by clicking HERE.

I enjoyed writing the scene where Kitty and Lord George run into each other. Literally. Here is their 'cute/meet' Regency style.

She’d turned onto
the road which led to Longbourn, traversing the small slope immediately
following when she heard thunderous hooves pounding from behind. Before she
could move out of the way, a horse and rider nearly ran her down, jumping over
her body at the last minute. Startled, she screamed and tumbled into the ditch.

Arms flailing
helplessly, she rolled once and came to a soggy stop at the bottom of the
shallow gully. With shaking hands she pushed her bonnet back off her face and
took a few precious seconds to gather her wits. Nothing was broken, that she
could tell, and her heart raced along as though she’d run all the way home from
Lucas Lodge. She heard the rustling of grass as the rider of the horse slipped
down the embankment toward her.

“Are you hurt?” he
queried.

She nodded, not
trusting her voice. Tears threatened to overflow onto her cheeks with the
realization of how perilously close she’d come to being injured, or killed.

“Here, take my hand.
I’ll help you up.”

She raised her hand,
but when he went to pull her toward him, she cried out at the sharp pain in her
side.

“You’re injured!”

“I don’t know,” she
managed to breathe out and pressed her palm to her side where the pain still
radiated.

She finally glanced
up at the rider and gasped. Before her stood Lord George Kerr. They’d met
briefly at Lizzie and Darcy’s wedding breakfast at Pemberley, their
conversation lasting only a few short minutes before she’d been called away by
Mama.

“Miss Catherine Bennet!”
He seemed equally surprised. “I’m so sorry for having caused you such undue
pain. Please let me help you up this embankment.”

Her cheeks flamed
with embarrassment. She’d been giddy about the small attention she received
from him last November and for months painted a romantic dream around his dark
good looks and storm colored eyes. Now, the fantasy presented itself in living
color and she was mortified to be covered in mud and weeds, through no fault of
her own.

He slipped and slid
closer and with a perfunctory ‘Sorry’, cradled her in his arms and lifted. She
clenched her jaw tight and tried to not cry out, but couldn’t stop a small
whimper from escaping.

“I’m truly sorry,
Miss Catherine. I wouldn’t blame your father if he called for a public flogging
because of my recklessness.”

“No worries, Lord Kerr,”
she panted out in quick breaths. “Father isn’t bothered by much. Mama wore him
down years ago.”

She thought she
heard him chuckle and dared to glance up at his face, which was achingly close
now that he held her in his arms. She noted a firm chin and full mouth, which
was most definitely curved in a smile at her comment. Before he caught her
staring, she fixed her eyes on the ditch they were in.

“There is a natural
incline over there.” She pointed to the area where the gully gradually met the
road. “If you must carry me, this would make it much easier to gain access. I
don’t wish to be a burden.”

“Miss Catherine, you
are no burden. I swear you are as light as a feather, but I agree, the access
is much easier over there.” He began walking toward the berm and within minutes
set her on her feet, holding her arms for a few seconds longer until he was
sure she wouldn’t collapse.

“I’m fine, Lord Kerr.
I’ll be on my way.” She attempted a small curtsy and winced.

“What kind of
gentleman do you think I am, allowing an injured female to walk home when I
have a perfectly fine horse to carry us?”

“No!” She pulled
away from him and almost fell again in pain. This time, her ankle refused to
hold her weight. With lightning fast reflexes, he caught her before she hit the
ground. “We can’t ride together. What would people say?”

With his arms
wrapped firmly around her, he glanced up and down the road. His eyebrow arched
and he grinned. “What people do you see, Miss Catherine?”

“You never know who
could come along. No, I’ll have to walk.”

She pushed lightly
against his chest and he allowed them to separate, but kept his hands firmly on
her forearms, to steady her balance.

“No.” His tone was
resolute. “I’ll walk, you’ll ride Buttons.”

“Buttons?” She tried
not to laugh out loud as it hurt, but the horse was a handsome steed, worthy of
a name like Zeus, Juno, or Lightning.

“Laugh if you must.
I bought him from a friend whose son named the beast. To change it now would
confuse him greatly.” He placed his hands around her waist and lifted her with
ease onto the saddle. She grimaced from the pressure on her ribs and once again
he apologized. “Let’s get you home and then we can send for a doctor.”

With that he swung
up behind her and she stiffened, arching her body away from his strong, solid
one. He slid an arm around her waist, his other hand loose on the reins.

“Relax, Miss Catherine.
I’ve got you.”

Jaw clenched tight,
she nodded and relaxed her body into his.

“You might want to
hold onto my arm, to give you better balance.”

He was wedged
against her so tight his voice resonated through her body, and his essence, the
sheer maleness of him surrounded her. The sensation was as much frightening as
it was exciting. Face aflame, she did as he bade. All her romanticized day
dreams of Lord George having his arms about her did not come close to the real
thing.

Soon the thrill of
his arms around her subsided. With each rocking step Button’s took, pain spiraled
across her ribs and it required all her concentration to take in shallow
breaths.

“We’re almost there,
Miss Catherine. I can see a house through the break in the trees.”

She lifted her gaze
and almost wept at the sight of Longbourn. Both her mother and father exited
the house to greet them, no doubt having been warned by a servant they were
coming up the drive. She expected a full on assault by her mother and was not
disappointed.

“Whatever happened?”
Mrs. Bennet’s mouth gaped open at the sight of Kitty seated in front of Lord George,
his arms around her in a familiar fashion.

Lord Kerr slid off
the horse and turned toward Kitty. She placed her hands on his broad shoulders
and with great care he lifted her off Buttons. She fully expected him to set
her on her feet, instead, with little effort he swung her up into his arms and
turned to face her parents.

“I apologize for
this breach of decorum, but Miss Catherine has been injured. Do you have
somewhere I may take her?”

“Right this way,
Lord Kerr.” Mr. Bennet said, waving his arm in the direction of the door. He’d
obviously recognized Lord George from Lizzie’s wedding.

“Oh my nerves. My body
is trembling. Hill, I need my smelling salts.” Mrs. Bennet held the back of her
hand to her forehead and swayed on her feet.

I took a break from Weekend Writing Warriors to share a little bit of my Christian faith, and what better time than on a Sunday - the Sabbath. :)

I was listening to an interview with Keith Green - fabulous ministry in song for the Lord - on 100 Huntley Street a few months before his death in 1982. He said something that jumped out at me concerning young people who attend church with their parents, (because they HAVE to), and don't have a personal relationship with the Lord. Sometimes they believe that because they have been brought up in the church that they are all right.

They're not.

You must make a decision on your own. You must make the choice to follow God. There is no other way. Keith said to the host, David Mainse, God does not have grandchildren. Wow. To the point and a reminder that WE are the only ones responsible for our choices.

Below is a recording of one of his songs. I hope this touches your heart like it did mine.

And the scribes and the Pharisees led a woman who was taken in adultery and standing her in their midst saying to Him, "Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery: and in the Torah of Moses it is commanded for us to stone such as those. Therefore what do You Yourself say?" And they were saying this testing Him, so they could accuse Him. But Y'shua, bending down, wrote with His finger in the dirt. And as they were continuing to ask Him, He straightened up and said to them, "The one of you who is without sin must cast the first stone." Then bending down again, He wrote in the dirt. And those listening were leaving one by one, beginning with the elders. Then only He and the woman in the middle were left. And straightening up Y'shua said to her, "Woman, where are they? Does no one accuse you?" And she said, "No one Lord." Then Y'shua said, "Neither do I condemn you. Go, from now on you must no longer sin."

John 8: 1-11

This is a beautiful parable of not only the woman who sinned, but of us. Each of us has sinned and the devil loves nothing better than to throw our past mistakes in our face and taunt us that we deserve to die. But Christ writes in the sand and the devil has to flee. Do you want to know what He would write in the sand for us?

IT IS FINISHED

Christ died on the cross so that if we believe on Him, our sins are forgiven, never to be remembered. Never let anyone tell you that you are a worthless person, for you are so precious that even if you were the only person on this planet - Christ would still take on all your sin so that you can stand before God forgiven. How awesome is that?

Welcome to another instalment of Weekend Writing Warriors where authors showcase a portion of their work in a miniscule frame of 8-10 lines. Cruel and Unusual punishment, I assure you. However, these are the constraints within we all work (although some of us use creative punctuation and break every grammar rule to stay within the confines).

Have said that, here is my contribution for the week, continuing on where Evangeline has entered a church to escape the man who's been following her these past few days. Just as she sat down, he entered so she dropped to the floor and rolled under the pew.

Enjoy.

She gathered her skirts close to her legs, grateful they didn't swish. Having determined she was being watched or followed, she'd carefully chosen a dark muslin gown, choosing not to wear a corset or any type of bulky underskirt. The last thing she needed was the creak of whale bone or the rustle of petticoats to give away her location, or impede a hasty retreat.

Every nerve in her body tensed as she strained for any sound, any noise that would indicate his location in the sanctuary.

There - a soft shuffling noise near the confessional. Did he think she was careless enough to conceal herself in the most obvious spot? She almost sniffed aloud with disdain. The door latch to the confessional clicked and she belly crawled along the cold marble floor toward a side stairwell used by the priests to enter and exit the building.

Keeping low, she slipped behind a large column and crept down the hall. When she was sure no one from within the chapel could see her, she straightened and hurried down the short corridor, her soft soled slippers not making a sound.

Clever Evangeline! I'm enjoying this heroine.

To learn more about Weekend Writing Warriors and to link with other authors partaking this weekend, please click HERE.